Archive of Our Own

The only conclusive thing about our fates is that we are destined to change.

Prologue.

Dancers are only beautiful once. Your former ballet teacher had hammered this phrase into your memory, a sentence that etched itself into nearly every aspect of your formative years. The phrase was less proverbial than it was an outright threat. Without proper maintenance or care during your training, you risked never being able to dance to your fullest again. 

For you, your adherence to both your training and self-care was nearly religious. Training sessions were always accompanied by proper stretching, foot massages, and careful bandaging of potential problem spots. Your diet was also maintained vigorously, a perfect array of nutrients and protein from produce that you personally hand selected at the store. Similarly, your sleep schedule was strict, a 9 p.m. bedtime and 5 a.m. alarm that never wavered—not even for the occasional weekend. 

Your efforts were rewarded. Trophies and medals from ballet competitions practically littered your childhood bedroom. You had magazine clippings from articles that detailed your rise as a young star in the ballet world. Costumes from leading roles crammed themselves into your closet, and autographs from some of the best names in ballet were plastered against your walls. But your most prized possession was framed in the center of the wall, right above the bed, your admission letter to Inarizaki Institute of Performing Arts, the most prestigious performing arts university in the country. 

Simply put, you had everything. 

But nothing and nobody was perfect—the fates themselves ensured that was true.

Present Day.

"(Y/N), I'm afraid that the university policy states that if you don't declare a new major by the start of the next semester, we'll have no choice but to unenroll you," your advisor said flatly, pushing up her wire-rimmed glasses which slid back down her nose bridge immediately. Although her tone was rather monotonous, if you looked closely enough at her thick false eyelashes, you saw something that looked like the barest hint of sympathy. 

The realization sat bitter on your tongue. 

"And there's no other option available?" you asked the question even though you'd been told the answer many times, like something could magically change. 

"I'm sorry, but no. If you're unable to continue dancing, you must audition and be admitted to a different track to stay as a student here."

"Okay." You swallowed your spit thickly. "I understand."

Though you left the office with a pit in your stomach, you forced yourself to roll your shoulders back and stand tall. With one hand, you smoothed out the ruffles in your skirt and ensured that the ribbons on your top were still tied properly. Still, you couldn't stop yourself from crumpling the empty can of pineapple juice in your hand and launching it at the recycling bin ten feet away. It clattered against the rim with a bang and bounced off, landing on the ground right next to the bin. "Damn it," you cursed under your breath. Luckily, it was lunchtime and most of the students had already left campus in pursuit of their next meal or were in the middle of their classes. This meant that nobody was there to witness the way you quickly scampered over and placed it gently inside of the bin. 

However, even the embarrassment of missing the recycling bin wasn't enough to distract you from your problems at hand. You clenched the handle of your tote bag tightly, your mind racing at a million miles per hour. Declare a new major by next semester? Even if you were able to miraculously decide on a major, would you be able to pass the audition for your new major? Given the standards for the Inarizaki Institute, there was no way that you would be able to pass if you haphazardly decided on any random major. And most importantly, wasn't it so fucking unfair that you had to choose a new major in the first place?

Something heavy and awful began to form in your throat. You shook your head and swallowed the feeling down. No, it wouldn't do to dwell on those kinds of thoughts right now. What was done was done. Moping around wasn't going to change anything now. 

Your stomach let out a grumble, and you belatedly realized that in the stress and anticipation of today's meeting, you'd forgotten to eat breakfast. You started heading in the direction of the campus's dining halls, determined that if you couldn't fix your life this instant, at the very least, you were going to get one of the highly coveted acai bowls before they ran out. 

The university's main cafeteria was brimming with people, and unfortunately, the amount of people also craving an acai bowl meant you were stuck waiting in line for a while. You scrolled through your phone to kill time, although there wasn't much to see. Most of your social media accounts had been temporarily deactivated months ago, and you hadn't been great at responding to any of your text messages either. Right now, the most intriguing thing on your phone were your emails, and after deleting the annoying promotions flooding your inbox, you lost interest in that too. 

With nothing else to do, your ears naturally gravitated to their surroundings, eavesdropping on the animated conversation happening between two girls standing in front of you.

"Aren't you so excited for the upcoming Inarizaki festival? I heard this year, they're planning to make it bigger than ever," one girl gushed excitedly. 

"Oh my gosh, and the rumor is that Metamorphosis is headlining the festival this year!" The other girl practically squealed upon saying this. 

You could hardly hide your disdain upon hearing Metamorphosis. For the past year, you'd done your best to block the word from both your sight and hearing, but it was especially difficult when Metamorphosis happened to be the name of the university's most popular student band. 

Actually, you couldn't even look over the student bulletin board right now, since it was plastered with flyers advertising whatever upcoming gig they were going to perform at next. But even as you did your best to tune out of the conversation, the volume that the girls were speaking at made this impossible. 

"We'll get to see Atsumu on stage again." One of the girls let out a wistful sigh, as if she was already picturing his face.

At the mention of Atsumu, you pushed your tongue against the inside of your cheek, trying to calm yourself down. By "Atsumu," there was only one person that the girl could be referring to. Atsumu Miya was the lead singer of Metamorphosis, a fellow student in your year that was well-known on campus for having extraordinary vocals and insane musicality. His fame was nearly unmatched across the university, as everybody knew him to be a sort of musical genius. 

Your own opinion on him was—in nicest terms you could use—complicated.

Suddenly, however, one of the girls dropped her voice down to a whisper. Despite your irritation at the direction the conversation had been steering, you couldn't help but listen in. Too nosy for your own good. "But didn't you hear? Apparently, there's some drama going on with Metamorphosis right now. Something about Atsumu and..."

Her voice then became too soft for you to pick up on without seeming like a creep. You straightened your posture and pretended to be examining your nails. What did it matter, anyway? It was probably more stupid rumors about the band's love lives or gossip about what labels were scouting them this time. Not that you even cared anyway. Atsumu and Metamorphosis had absolutely no bearing on your life at all, obviously not. You couldn't care less about them!

With that, you resolved not to pay any mind to the girls in front of you. It wasn't your business after all. Playing at the university festival? Tch. It wasn't that big of a deal. In fact, you'd been invited to perform at the final showcase for the last two years! Just not this year since...some ugly lump of emotions was starting to well up in your chest again. This time, you clenched your fists tightly and let out a slow exhale to evaporate them. Still, it felt like some of them were still lingering inside of you, like a nasty aftertaste you couldn't fully wash off of your tongue. 

If it was any condolence at least, the acai bucket still had three scoops worth when it was finally your turn in line. The dining hall lady plopped all three scoops worth into your bowl, even scraping the sides for you. "Any toppings?"

And although you got your usual order of berries, granola, and honey on top, you couldn't help but notice that something about the acai tasted more bitter than usual. 

What a shitty day.

Since it was your third year in university now, you were pretty familiar with the so-called "secret" spots on campus. While most regular universities had hidden study rooms or lounge areas, the Inarizaki institute had secluded practice rooms and studios that weren't regularly utilized by most of the student body. Your favorite was one that you had discovered the previous semester, in the basement of one of the older buildings on campus. 

Not many people passed through this part of the building either, evident by the fact that you had to swing your arms around in order to trigger the motion-sensored lights. When you pushed open the door to the practice room, you were relieved to see that the fully equipped acoustic drum set in the center of the room was still sitting there in pristine condition. 

You'd stumbled upon this by chance, in a particularly rough period of time that you had been going through last year. Even though you'd only started learning the drums at the start of your freshman year (the reason behind the sudden hobby should not be named), it'd become a sort of emotional outlet that you'd used throughout university. Beyond the few lessons you'd taken on the basics of drums here and there, it was never a thing that you had pursued professionally—at least, not to the extent ballet had been for you. 

Given all the stress and emotions of today, you didn't think there was a better time to be playing the drums than right now. You placed your bag on the ground and took out your personal pair of drumsticks. However, the squatting motion caused a sharp pain to shoot through your right hip. You clenched the spot with your hand and hissed, but allowed the pain to pass through before you made your way over to the seat behind the drum sets.

After finishing up your warm-ups, you grabbed the cord to connect your phone to the speaker system behind you. Your favorite thing to do was to play your latest rock song obsession on the speakers and either match the drums originally associated with the music or overlay your own interpretation. It was never a formal thing, moreso allowing the music to guide you. 

At the moment, you were obsessed with a Japanese rock band under the name Last Alliance. You tapped through some of their discography, chose a song, and then allowed yourself to start. 

With the speakers booming from behind you, it was easy to immerse yourself in the music. Your body seemed to naturally grasp the rhythm of the drums on its own, allowing yourself to lose yourself in your own thoughts. 

Pick a new major? As if that was something that you could change on a whim, like your daily bakery order. Your advisor had used the term "unenrollment," but that was no different than expelling you. They had the nerve to threaten you like that after all that you'd given to the university? Not even just the monetary amount that you'd paid to attend this place, but you'd poured every ounce of your childhood and teenage years to become good enough for this place. You'd attended every student showcase, every recital, every community outreach this damn university had given you, and this was how they were treating you? You even posed for their stupid promotional campaigns. There wasn't a single informational pamphlet at this university that didn't have your face on it somewhere! And to treat you like a burden to this place now—your rhythm subdivisions intensified into quicker and quicker notes as you thought about it. 

The song then split off into a pure instrumentals section, where you channeled your frustration into dominating the beat. This stupid university and these stupid people and all of the stupid things in the world, you cursed internally. How could they toss me aside like this?

By the time the song ended, you were breathing heavily, having been caught up in the feeling of being able to pour your emotions out through the song. You wiped the tiny beads of sweat forming along your forehead off gingerly with a handkerchief that you kept in your bag and paused the song that had begun automatically playing next. Just as you did so, a clapping noise from in front of you startled you out of your stupor. 

You looked up to see a tall man with dyed blond hair buzzed off on the sides of his head standing in the center of the room. The male wore an oversized black t-shirt, baggy blue jeans, and a silver chain around his neck. He was clapping his hands together with a beaming smile plastered across his visage. 

Atsumu Miya. Your lips parted in surprise. You would recognize that face anywhere. The real question was what was he doing here? To your knowledge, nobody ever set foot in this part of campus, much less Atsumu Miya himself. As a matter of fact, had you known that Atsumu Miya would be here, you would've avoided this place like the plague. So what was he—?

"You're going to be my drummer," he declared, in a voice so loud that some of it echoed off of the soundboards around you.

"What?" You were flabbergasted by this sudden statement, completely unsure of what to make of his words. Your confusion went ignored. 

"You." He quickly walked over to you, his long legs closing the distance in only three strides. "What's your name?"

The drumsticks left your hands and landed on his forehead with a clack so loud that it had a probability of being concussion-inducing. 

"Never in my life have I been so utterly humiliated and embarrassed," you ranted, feeling like your anger was physically emanating off. "He asked for my fucking name?"

Your audience consisted of two victims that were being forced to sit through your spiel, a guy named Koushi Sugawara and a girl named Kiyoko Shimizu. Both of them had entered university at the same time as you through the ballet track, and they were your closest friends in university (secretly, they were the only people you'd stayed in contact with these last few months).

All three of you were sitting at one of the tables on the university greenery. As usual, Kiyoko was quietly listening to you, but Koushi was more of an enabler, throwing fuel upon your fire.

"So disrespectful," Koushi said, clicking his tongue. "You're telling us he doesn't even remember you?"

"Yes! To ask me my name when I'm basically everywhere on this campus? When I've performed at the same university showcases as him and when my face is literally on the university banner outside of the student center?! Can you believe the nerve of him?!" 

"Unbelievable." Koushi nodded in agreement, before pausing for a moment. "But wait...what happened next? Did you confront him?"

"Well..." Your voice trailed off, and you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, wondering if it was the right moment to confess your actions. "That's..."

"(Y/N)," Kiyoko said sternly. Even Koushi was now raising an eyebrow at you. You pursed your lips. Nothing could get past these two, could it? 

You did your best to smile innocently, but even you could feel that the corners of your smile were a little bit crooked. "Well...I may have had to make a run for it."

"Because?" Koushi asked. 

"A little something called...potential assault charges?"

After some reflection (and a lot of scolding from both Koushi and Kiyoko), you had a new resolution. The next time you saw Atsumu, you would apologize profusely for nailing him in the forehead with your drumsticks. Yes, you were still angry about that encounter, but you had to admit, there was some wrongdoing on your part as well. You would be the bigger person and apologize first! At the end of the day, you had a reputation that you were maintaining on this campus. 

If you needed to apologize, then you needed to apologize. 

However, you decided that the apology would need to be a natural encounter. There was no need to seek out Atsumu. If he'd been truly injured by the drumsticks (something you heavily doubted given how little they weighed in the first place), then he would've obviously come to you by now...right?

Anyways, you had other pressing issues at the moment. Unfortunately, once you'd sent your drumsticks airborne, you'd failed to retrieve them in the aftermath. Now you were making your way back to the practice room to get them back. Surely, you wouldn't run into anybody here. 

Looking back, the fact that the lights were off probably lured you into a false sense of security. The lights flickered on as you made your way down the hallway and pushed open the practice room door—only to end up face-to-face with the one and only Atsumu Miya. 

The sight of him almost made you jump back in shock, but you forced yourself to remain composed. You'd already made that internal promise to apologize after all. You slowly shut the practice door behind you, trying not to look flustered at all. Your eyes flickered up and down his body, and apart from the tiny red mark on his forehead, he appeared otherwise unharmed. 

"Are you looking for these?" Atsumu held up your drumsticks in his hand and effortlessly twirled them between his fingers. You silently chastised yourself for finding the action attractive. He held them out to you, but before you could grab them, he pulled them back. "If you want them back, then you—"

"I'm really sorry for throwing them at you the other day," you said sincerely before he could continue. Truly, you were actually apologetic. Even though it was something you'd done without thinking, you didn't mean to actually cause any harm. Out of your pocket, you took out the cooling gel that you'd been carrying around for the past few days in preparation for this potential encounter. Immediately, you squeezed a small dollop on your pointer finger, stood up on your tip-toes, and dabbed it onto the tiny red spot on Atsumu's forehead. "This is a cooling gel. It should help with any swelling and hopefully make it heal faster. Sorry, it was something that happened in the heat of the moment, and I'm sorry for hurting you."

His eyes widened at the sudden action. He stood perfectly still as you finished placing the cooling gel, almost obediently. 

When you finished, you placed the cooling gel back in your pocket. "Does it feel better?"

"Y-yeah, but..." Atsumu stammered. You blinked slowly, unable to comprehend what was happening. Was the great Atsumu Miya stuttering? The person who'd always been on stage so fearlessly? The most coveted bachelor on campus? Wasn't this what he wanted? You didn't expect this reaction at all. Out of nowhere, he sucked in a deep breath and when he spoke again, that uncharacteristic stutter was completely gone. "No, I didn't come here for an apology or any of that. I actually had forgotten about that."

"You had?" You were going to curse out Koushi so hard for giving you crap for an hour over this. 

"I came here, because you're going to be my band's next drummer." Atsumu made direct eye contact with you, and the deep intensity of his brown eyes caused your breath instantly to hitch in your throat. 

On the other hand, your brain took a brief moment to process what he had said. A drummer? "Don't you already have one?"

Everybody on campus knew that the drummer of Metamorphosis was none other than Atsumu's own twin brother, Osamu Miya. Why would he be asking you to become the band's drummer?

"Not anymore." Atsumu scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, and you sensed that there was a much deeper meaning behind his words. "But we don't need him anyway! I want you to join as the drummer in our band."

"Right..." You narrowed your eyes at him. The irritation from before was slowly starting to creep up on you again. "I'm not a drummer though."

"But I saw you play the other day! You're perfect. You're exactly the drummer that the band needs," he said, his eyes practically gleaming now. 

You're exactly the drummer that the band needs. Something about that sentence felt a little nauseating to you. You weren't a drummer though. You were (Y/N) (L/N), the best ballerina at the Inarizaki Institute of Performing Arts. Or at least, you...were.

"How do you know that?" Your tone was slipping into something a little accusing, but though you were trying your best to contain it, you couldn't stop it. "What do you even know about me?"

"That you're a fantastic drummer."

"Do you know my name?"

He gave you a cocky grin, and the slight head tilt caused one of his ear piercings to glisten in the light. "I can learn it."

This was the final straw for you. At this point, it was clear that he didn't remember you at all. He didn't know that you were (Y/N), or that you were a ballerina before you were anything else, or that you'd told him exactly who you were a year ago with your heart on the line. You let out an angry huff and snatched the drumsticks out of his hands before he could react. "Sorry, but I'm not interested. There are plenty of actual drum majors on campus. Try finding one of them."

You stormed out, trying to ignore the pain in your hip as you marched away. Behind you, you could hear Atsumu scrambling to catch up to you. Before he could even leave the practice room, you slipped into the women's bathroom, ensuring that he would have no idea where you were once he came out. 

Outside of the bathroom door, you could hear his desperate footsteps chasing the ghost of you down the hallway. Only once you heard the sound of them disappear did you dare to exhale. 

One of the bathroom lights above the mirror flickered on and off for a brief second. The sight of it directed your attention to the mirror. You fixed the hem of your blouse and sighed. Your usually pristine hairdo was now falling in front of your face in the form of wispy baby hairs, and the charm of your necklace was slightly lopsided. To top it all off, the pain in your hip was like a dull reminder of who you used to be. A ballerina, huh? You could barely extend your leg a measly 90 degrees anymore. What kind of ballerina were you? 

You were giving Atsumu a lot of flack for not knowing who you were, but honestly, you didn't really know who you were anymore either. 

You weren't sure how Atsumu managed to learn your name, but he used it to call out after you after you'd finished your music theory class the following week. 

"(Y/N)!" he yelled, weaving through the crowd of students towards you almost effortlessly.

Upon seeing him behind you, your pace quickened. You weren't sure how to face him at this point. One, you were a little embarrassed that you'd gone as far as to buy and carry around cooling gel (when clearly his injury hadn't even been that big of a deal). Two, you weren't sure how you could make your rejection any more firm. And three, the fact that he didn't remember you after the whole incident from last year was enough to sour your mood. 

Sadly, a bad hip meant he overtook your steps quite easily. Within mere moments, Atsumu had cornered you into one of the quieter parts of the building hallway, away from the hustle and bustle of the students. Today, Atsumu's get-up appeared to be a little more casual, opting for a worn-out t-shirt with the tour dates for a band you didn't know and sweatpants. You tried not to think about how good-looking he was, regardless of the lack of effort. 

"It's (Y/N), right?" From this distance, you could clearly see his canines, jutting out confidently as if he expected you to praise him for learning your name. 

You did your best not to audibly scoff or roll your eyes. "Yes, as most people on this campus know."

"But that means I proved it." 

"Proved what?" You raised an eyebrow.

"That I can learn about you." He was basically beaming, like this was the biggest accomplishment that the Inarizaki Institute of the Arts had ever seen. Honestly, you were flabbergasted. Had he always been this dumb?

"I would hope you're able to learn anything, since the tuition here isn't chump change," you quipped, tucking your hair behind your ears and folding your arms over your chest. "But even so, I'm not interested in joining your little troupe or whatever."

"It's called Metamorphosis, actually. Haven't you heard of us?"

"Never." You were lying out of your butt, but you couldn't help it when your own dignity was on the line. You weren't about to give him the satisfaction of knowing that you were familiar with his band when he hadn't even known your name. "Metamorphosis, like what, the Kafka novel?"

"Like the stages of a butterfly life cycle?" He pointed to one of the rings on his fingers, which had a singular wing of a butterfly carved into the silver. You recognized the wing to be their signature logo for the band. "Cool, right? We're a rock band on campus."

Even you had to admit it was a little cool. But you were careful not to let your feelings show on your expression. "Why do you want me in the band though? You must know that I don't specialize in drums."

"Cause there's something special about you, (Y/N). Really. You don't find people who play drums like you just anywhere." His eyes sparkled in a way that you recognized as sincerity. Atsumu really believed what he was saying. He thought you had something special? Frankly, it'd been a long time since you heard someone tell you that. 

It made your heart do flip-flops inside of your chest, making a part of you softened. Maybe you were judging him too harshly.

"I'll think about it," you said.

"I don't think he's making you a bad offer actually," Koushi said, as you finished your recap of your conversation with Atsumu from earlier in the day.

Your eyes widened at this statement. "What makes you say that?"

"To be honest, (Y/N), if you want to stay at Inarizaki, you have to find another major. I know it's weird to make the switch from ballet to drums, but you're good at the drums, even if that's not what you grew up doing. You just need a place to really refine your skills and get good enough to pass the drums audition. What better place would that be than the best rock band on campus?"

Koushi had a point. You'd been so offended by the offer initially that you hadn't stopped to consider how the terms of this could potentially benefit you. After all, wasn't it true that you needed to change your major before you were dropped from the school? According to your physical therapist, it was unlikely that you would be able to switch to another major that was physically demanding or straining, so didn't percussion just make sense as a major? Wouldn't being in one of the most highly respected ensembles on campus be the perfect way to get good enough? 

"Yeah." You pursed your lips together, reflecting on this new perspective. 

"I don't think your life as an artist has to end just because you're not a ballerina anymore, (Y/N)," Kiyoko spoke softly. 

You tapped your fingers against the sides of your smoothie, watching as the condensation on the outside of the cup dripped down your fingers. They splattered onto the counter, plip plop, almost rhythmically. 

A part of you wondered if the only reason that you cared about staying enrolled at Inarizaki was because you were trying to salvage who you used to be. If maybe being at this school was the last definitive tie that you had to your former life as a ballerina. Was this all just desperation? Just a pathetic attempt at being something? 

But wasn't Kiyoko right? Even if you'd been forced to give up your childhood dreams and ambitions, why did everything have to end here? 

Maybe this could be a fresh start. 

Truthfully, you weren't sure what you were expecting when Atsumu asked to introduce you to the band's practice space, but in your head, it was much nicer than where you were right now. Years of being inside of pristine dance studios had caused you to associate the word "rehearsal" with impeccable hardwood flooring and spotless mirrors lining the walls. Never would you have expected to be escorted into the garage of one of the houses just off campus. 

"This is it," Atsumu said smugly, as if you were going to burst into applause. The only light inside of the garage was a single flickering lightbulb that was dangling from a wire on the ceiling (definitely up to fire code). You tiptoed over a crushed up energy drink rolling back and forth on the cement floor and bowed your head awkwardly to the other band members. Even without any introductions, you already knew the members. Shinsuke Kita was the band's keyboardist, Rintaro Suna was the bassist, and Atsumu was, of course, the lead vocals and guitar. 

"It's (Y/N), right?" Shinsuke walked over to you and firmly shook your hand. "My name's Shinsuke Kita. I play the keyboard. It's nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you."

"Rintaro Suna." The black-haired male plucked one of the strings on his bass. There was no further elaboration, but you'd heard rumors that he wasn't a man of many words. You nodded your head in acknowledgment. 

There was a notable absence from your memory of Metamorphosis, but you supposed that made sense, given that you were here to replace him. Your eyes flickered across the garage, like there would be clues as to why the previous drummer had left, but there didn't seem to be any obvious signs of heated conflict (not that you knew what you'd been expecting).

"And that's the band." Atsumu clapped his hands together and the sound echoed inside of the garage. "So I think the plan is to trial run you as our drummer until the festival showcase in a few months. We'll have a bunch of other gigs booked until then, so you won't have to get on the big stage right away without having performed before."

"I'll add you to the calendar," Shinsuke said, pulling out his phone. "What's your email?"

After Shinsuke had walked you through the administrative tasks, it was finally time for the first rehearsal that would test the waters for you. Atsumu whipped off the covers from the drumset in the corner to reveal a classic five-piece drum set, complete with the band's spray-painted logo on the front of the bass drum. You pulled out your drum sticks from the tote bag on your shoulder and start out by getting a feel for the drumset, testing the sound of the snare and hi-hat. 

"Do you know any of the songs off of our regular set?" Atsumu asked. 

He was referring to the list of songs that he'd sent you earlier that week, all of which were on the gig rotation. You nodded, though you decided not to tell him that you'd been well-acquainted with their songs for much longer than a week. "I can do most of the ones on rotation."

"Good. Let's start with one of our older ones, 'Imagination'."

Although it took a few bars before you were accustomed to the groove, you soon felt like you were naturally adjusting to the sounds of the other members. You had to admit, you were a little worried, given that you'd never played drums in an ensemble before. But whether it was your music theory classes kicking in or the innate sense of rhythm that you'd developed throughout your youth, you found yourself instinctively following the beat of the song. However, you knew that although you could feel the beats, the finer mechanics of the song were still unpolished. 

When the song finished up, you stole a glance at Kita standing next to you, who appeared to be relatively satisfied with the performance. Still, you gripped the drumsticks in your hands tightly. During the instrumentals section, you weren't thrilled with your execution of any of the polyrhythms. For you, it was passable. Just passable. Something in the back of your throat felt itchy at the thought.

It seemed like Atsumu shared your feelings. "It's not right," he said bluntly, shaking his head. "The balance is wrong."

"It was fine for her first time," Shinsuke said, his expression cool and controlled.

Even though Shinsuke was coming to your defense, you secretly agreed with Atsumu. You'd never been fine in your life. Fine didn't make you the best rock band on campus. Fine wouldn't pass an audition for the best music school in the nation. You gritted your teeth together. "I'll be better."

"Better needs to happen by next Saturday," Atsumu said, pulling his guitar off of him and setting it on a nearby chair. "That'll be the first gig you're performing with us. This can't be a half-assed show."

You bit the tip of your tongue, holding back any snappy retorts that wanted to fly out of your mouth. Gone was the Atsumu that had begged you to join the band. You knew that now that you had committed to being here, Atsumu meant business. Still, something in his tone deeply irked you. "Do I seem like the type that would half ass anything?" you asked, unable to stop the tsk that slipped out at the end of your question. 

Without missing a beat, the male turned around to face you and folded his arms over his chest. "Nothing's proven those allegations false yet."

The presence of two witnesses (now your new bandmates) stopped you from pulling out his dyed hair by the roots. 

One Year Ago.

Admittedly, this probably wasn't the best place to confess your feelings to your crush of two years. To be fair though, this was the first time that you'd ever caught Atsumu Miya alone, and you weren't the type of person to let opportunity slip you by. 

You'd run into him at the local diner just off of the university campus, and he'd been uncharacteristically getting food by himself. Perhaps it was the fluorescent lighting messing with your head or the fact that your only potential witness was the teenage boy behind the counter, but either way, you were spurred to action. You didn't have any real expectations. In fact, you knew in your head that you had a grand total of maybe three interactions with Atsumu, but you felt like you might really lose your mind if you didn't get these feelings off of your chest.

It just wasn't going as well as you might've hoped.

"Sorry, I'm not really looking for a relationship right now." Atsumu was currently seated in the booth by the window, with you standing at the end of the table. A bright neon sign advertising the diner's all beef hotdogs was buzzing next to your ear. He rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. "I really want to focus on my band."

"Ah. I see." Your voice was quiet, but you weren't sure what else to say. Something in your stomach tightened, an unpleasant feeling that made you want to flee the scene. However, you forced yourself to stay and see this through. "No need to apologize over that."

"You're the ballet major, right? Um..." His voice trailed off, giving you the clear cue to respond. 

"It's (Y/N). (Y/N) (L/N)."

"(Y/N)," he repeated. Something about the way he said your name felt like it was loose, as if it would roll right off his tongue and never return. You weren't sure how else to describe it. "Yeah, sorry."

At this point, you weren't able to meet his eyes any longer. Your gaze lingered on the tomato dangling on the edge of his burger bun instead,  which was dangerously close to slipping onto the plate. It soon gave out, dropping onto the plate with a plop that felt like it was echoing through the awkward silence.

"No worries. I guess I'll see you around then." You left the diner with a haste you'd never had before, your face buried in your hands in embarrassment. Fuck. He hadn't even known your name? When you were the (Y/N) (L/N)? Stupid Atsumu Miya and your stupid feelings and your stupid impulsive decision to confess when you knew he would reject you.  Only once you were back in your dorm room did you realize that somewhere in all the chaos, your favorite scrunchie had apparently slipped out of your hair at the diner. 

"I guess I can never go back there again." You spoke to yourself out loud, letting out a long sigh. And if you could have it your way, you'd never have to see Atsumu Miya again either. 

Present Day.

Although you hadn't been keeping track of how long you'd been holed up inside of the practice room, it was now dark enough that the only real light in the space was the one coming out of your laptop screen. Right now, you were squatting on the floor of the room in front of the laptop, surrounded by piles of sheet music and graphite pencils. You pushed up your blue light glasses and rewound the video for probably the hundredth time that day.

It was a recording of one of Metamorphasis's first performances at Inarizaki. This had taken place during your freshman year, during the very first school festival that you'd attended. You remembered missing most of the outdoor performances, because you'd been busy with the ballet showcase. As a result, you were only able to watch the last half hour of the outdoor stages, which is when Metamorphosis was scheduled to play. 

Even watching this back now, you could still vividly remember how the band appeared to act as a singular supernatural force that captivated the audience. Your heartbeat felt like it had been hypnotized by the thump of the bass drum, commanded to pulse in time to the music. Initially, people had criticized the schedule when it had been first announced, since the later slots were usually reserved for the upperclassmen or older ensembles. It was rare for a freshman band to secure the slot, but nobody had questioned it after hearing them play. Metamorphosis had been electric. 

From your screen, Atsumu moved like he was made of water, his fingers fluidly finding the chords and his voice washing over the listeners like waves onto the shore. You bit your lip, unable to take your gaze off of him. Something about him was magnetizing, forcing you to not just hear him, but see him. 

Your thumb caressed the handle of your drumsticks absentmindedly as you watched. It'd only been a few years since this performance, but Atsumu had the youthful glow to his cheeks that only freshmen had. But there was something else you could sense from his expression too. Like something about being on the stage was making him ravenous. You remembered seeing this back when you had originally watched the performance too. You might've encountered him in passing before this, but the insatiable energy was what made you truly see Atsumu for the first time. It was something that made your heart skip a beat even now.

Captivating as he was though, you forced yourself to concentrate on what you were really watching this video for. You honed in on the sound of Metamorphosis's original drummer, Osamu Miya. Despite the camera's obvious bias towards Atsumu, you could hear Osamu's drumming loud and clear. You whispered the rhythms he played to yourself, memorizing how he led the band with his groove. 

When the video finished, you collapsed backwards onto the floor with a long sigh. Your hands ached from how long you'd been practicing today, but you still weren't content. It had to be perfect. 

In the corner of your screen, a notification lit up from your campus forum. Although the title of the newest post flashed by only briefly, you didn't need a second glance to see the full thing. 

Can't believe the washed-up ballet princess still goes here LOLL isn't she embarrassed? 

You pursed your lips together in a grimace. At this point, you were pretty immune to this kind of gossip. Nobody in the competitive dance world made it far without being on the receiving end at some part of your life. You swallowed down your anger. There was no use in giving it any attention. 

Just a moment later, your phone pinged, indicating an incoming text from Koushi. No doubt, he was either ranting about the audacity of your classmates or warning you to stay off the forum for a little bit. 

It didn't matter to you though. The gossip was all the same anyway, always some nonsense about how you didn't deserve your place at Inarizaki since you weren't able to dance anymore. You let out a huff in irritation, got back up, and returned to your seat behind the drumset. There was no point in getting mad about it right now. You'd simply prove why you were still here. Guided by your fresh rewatch of Atsumu's video, you began again. 

If there had been a mirror in the room, maybe you would've noticed that the indescribably desperate expression on Atsumu's face that had bewitched you back then was the same one on your face now. 

 "Do you plan to tell him?" Koushi asked. Currently, he was draped across your bed in his pajamas like this was his own dorm room. Kiyoko was sitting on her own bed on the other side of the room, carefully applying her evening skincare. You were seated on your desk chair, finishing up the last of your reading for your literary seminar class. 

"About what?"

"Y'know. The whole confession thing." 

You frowned at the thought. "Would it change anything? He obviously doesn't remember, and it's not like telling him now would make him magically change his answer. Besides, I'm totally over my feelings for him."

If Koushi didn't believe you, he at least had enough tact to ignore it. "Hmm, it's just strange, right? I guess technically, the person who's in the wrong in the situation is Atsumu. I mean, who forgets somebody who confesses their feelings for you?" Koushi pondered out loud.

You hummed the solfege scale from your homework and began marking down the correct pitches. "A guy with rocks for brains. Or rather, only rock in his brain."

Koushi snorted at your joke. "True. He hasn't had a girlfriend the entire time we've been at university, right?"

You found some solace in this fact. Even when you'd been rejected right after your confession, Atsumu had made it clear that being in a relationship wasn't in his line of priorities at all. He'd never explicitly said that he disliked you. In fact, if you recalled correctly, his exact words fell between the lines of "Sorry, but I'm focusing on my band."

Ironic that you were now a part of said band, and he didn't even remember. You sunk down in your chair and let out a long sigh. "He must be the first lead singer of a popular rock band that wasn't obsessed with girls."

"Shouldn't that be a good thing?" Kiyoko asked.

Your brain knew that it was, but there was some twisted feeling in your chest that seemed to disagree, and you couldn't pinpoint why.

On your third day of practicing by yourself before you were supposed to meet up with the band for rehearsal, the door to your practice room swung wide open in the middle of one of your run-throughs. The sudden sound startled you so badly that your drumsticks slipped out of your hands and landed on the cymbals with a resounding clash that echoed throughout the room.

"Oops." The perpetrator stood in the middle of the doorway, his copper bangs falling in front of his eyes. Atsumu didn't look all that apologetic though. His outfit today was nicer than usual, a white button up shirt and slacks that were slightly wrinkled at the bottom. A black undone tie was draped around his neck. He had his guitar slung around his arm. "Glad I found you though."

You picked up your drumstick off the floor and quickly fixed the position of the cymbal. "Can I help you?" You asked coolly. 

"Show me what you have," he demanded, strolling his way into the center of the room. 

Had this guy ever heard of asking nicely? You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, but decided to go along with it. "Any specific parts? With any accompaniments?" 

"I'll play with you. From the start of 'Imagination'." He started unpacking his guitar and preparing the speaker on the side of the room. Atsumu set himself up so that he was directly facing you, which you found to be a surprising choice. You noticed that he hadn't grabbed the microphone from the corner of the room either. 

"Just the guitar today?"

"Do I need anything else?" Atsumu responded. You hated how your heart lurched upon seeing his grin. "You're going to be starting us off, so go ahead."

You took a deep breath, taking a moment to think about the tempo of the song. Once you'd decided the pace, you started playing, doing your best to emphasize the key moments and the parts where the drums especially shone. 

Meanwhile, Atsumu didn't take your eyes off of you the entire time he played. Even without looking at the guitar's fingerboard, he effortlessly found the notes and chords. You did your best to not wither under his gaze, years of your ballet training kicking in and keeping your posture strong and the beat steady. Half ass your performance? His accusation during the last band rehearsal echoed throughout your mind. Anger surged through you, but you forced yourself to keep the beat inside of you, guided by the sound of the music. 

When the two of you finished, you met Atsumu's eyes confidently. Without exaggerating your improvement, you knew that the extra solo practices from the past few days had clearly made a difference in your sound. There was a moment of silence, with neither of you daring to break eye contact. Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity, Atsumu let out a snicker which quickly turned into a full-on laugh. The sound reverberated throughout the room, the male laughing so strongly that he was gripping his sides. 

On the other hand, you could only look at him with a raised eyebrow and clear confusion across your features. What the hell was his problem?

"That was it," Atsumu said, abruptly composing himself and pointing his finger directly at you. "That's how you need to play."

"With the cleaner subdivisions?" 

"Yeah yeah, that was good too, but not just that. You were hungry." His eyes were basically sparkling as they looked at you. Atsumu's gaze didn't stray from you once, like you were the only person in the world. It made your throat feel dry. 

Hungry? Was that a compliment? Was that supposed to be a good thing? You didn't know what the hell it meant to look hungry or if it was a flattering description, but you did know one thing.

Your stupid heart wanted to be hungry if it meant Atsumu would see you. 

Osamu Miya might have had an identical face to his twin brother, Atsumu, but even without his dyed gray hair distinguishing him, you believed it was easy to recognize the difference between them. For one, you didn't feel a violent urge to smack Osamu whenever speaking with him. However, that didn't mean you felt comfortable around him either. In fact, you would go as far as to say that you'd rather be anywhere but here at the moment, standing in the alleyway outside of the dive bar where you were supposed to play for your first gig in Metamorphosis. You'd stepped outside for some fresh air since the venue was too warm, but you hadn't expected to run into Osamu here.

"So you're the new drummer?" Osamu asked. You couldn't tell if his tone was malicious or if his voice was always this monotone. 

"I am." He must've known that you were already. It wasn't like anything about your appearance made it particularly obvious otherwise. Having been in a rock band for a whopping two weeks, you hadn't really adopted a drummer of a rock band style yet. Tonight, you'd thrown together the best thing in your closet that you could find, a lace black tank top and baggy jeans. You hoped it didn't make you stick out like a sore thumb (although you suspected it did). 

"Are you any good?" Were the Miya twins the kings of interrogation or something? 

You folded your arms over your chest, refusing to let your posture cower. "Guess you'll find out tonight."

There was a pause, and then Osamu grinned, the same lopsided grin that Atsumu always had on his face. "Yeah, I guess we'll see."

He started walking back towards the front of the bar, but you called out to him before he turned the corner. "Why did you leave the band?"

The question had been bothering you this entire time. Metamorphosis had already claimed the title of being one of the best bands in the university. It wasn't as if his career would've been stunted by staying. 

"We all have to change, don't we? That's the rule of life," Osamu said, waving his hand like he was physically swatting the question away. "Even if I was a good drummer for the band, I don't think it was the right place for me. 'Sumu just wasn't too happy about it. That's all."

We all have to change. You couldn't fault him for his words. After all, wasn't that the whole reason you were here? The whole reason that you were about to perform on dingy stage at 10pm inside a dive bar with cigarette smoke staining the walls, wearing clothes you'd never worn before, revealing yourself to the world as a girl who wasn't a ballerina anymore?

"Yeah. Guess we all do." You agreed, letting out a deep sigh. At this time of night, it was cold enough that you could see your exhale materialize and drift away into the glow of the streetlamps. You didn't head inside until you could see the final wisps disappear. 

Your performance should always be muscle memory. Your ballet teacher had quoted this many times during your rehearsals, eager to highlight the fact that your hundreds of hours of practice should have ingrained itself into your physical body. 

The statement had never been more true than tonight. In fact, you weren't even sure if you had been conscious during this, or if you had been guided entirely by your muscle memory. You vaguely recalled Atsumu introducing you on stage, though with the blinding stage lights, you couldn't see the faces in the crowd. Somebody had said something else, you were given a cue by the audio manager to the side of the stage, and then your drumsticks hit the snare. 

Even if you weren't able to see the audience, you could feel the energy of the band. The balance, the synergy, the beat of the music, you could feel it. 

It felt fucking good.

Just like the first time you had seen him, Atsumu's presence on stage was spellbinding. You found your own eyes being drawn to him as you played, watching how his hair whipped around as he nodded his head to the music, how cleanly his fingers moved across the strings, how you could practically hear his grin as he sang. 

As the instrumental solo approached, Atsumu surprised you by whipping around to face you on stage, his back completely turned to the audience. His eyes met yours, as if challenging you. Your own eyes widened, and before you could stop yourself, you let out a laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. The two of you moved into the instrumentals part, each being guided by the sound of the music, taking turns trading the beat back and forth. 

When the first song finished, your heart was racing, your hands were trembling, you could feel the sweat beading on your forehead, and you felt alive. Like you were becoming something again. You couldn't remember the last time you'd had this feeling, the pure euphoria of performing. Something was roaring in the background—was that your heart or the audience? You couldn't tell. Something was hurting your cheeks. 

You realized that it was because you were beaming.

"Before we begin our next song, I want to remind you guys that we are Metamorphosis and we'll be playing at the Inarizaki Final Festival!" Atsumu yelled, his voice bellowing out towards the audience without the assistance of the microphone. "Now let's hit it!"

Your drumsticks found the beat once more, and something about the music and the atmosphere made the night feel immortal.

To celebrate the end of your first successful gig with the band, the four of you had decided to stay at the dive bar afterwards to get drinks. You'd started off by playing drinking games (you learned that Shinsuke was surprisingly good at holding his liquor), then talked about the professors you hated and the best dining halls on campus. Once the conversation drifted away, Shinsuke said he was going to escort the very drunk Rintaro back home. That left you alone with Atsumu sitting next to you in a booth by the corner of the bar, which gave you a sense of deja vu though your own tipsy brain couldn't quite identify why. 

"Are you also leaving?" You asked, only vaguely aware that you were slurring the ends of your sentences. Having lost most of the drinking games tonight, you were probably a little more intoxicated than you should've been. 

"You haven't tapped out yet, so how could I?" Atsumu's lopsided smile gave away his own state of inebriation. "I won't lose to anyone when it comes to drinking."

"I think Shinsuke's better than you," you teased, unable to help yourself. It was fun seeing him miffed.  

"He didn't even stay the whole way."

"Because he's actually responsible."

Atsumu rolled his eyes and your heart tumbled from inside your chest. In the warm lighting of the bar, you could clearly see each of his eyelashes. You wondered if he'd be angry if you touched them. "He just left before you could see him drunk. It was cowardly."

"You're cowardly." Your comeback didn't really make any sense, but you were a little too far gone to care that much. 

"Hey." His eyes lit up, as if he'd suddenly had a brilliant idea. "Should we play a game then? We ask each other a question and if the other person doesn't want to answer, they have to drink a shot. Then, we can figure out who has the best alcohol tolerance and who isn't a coward at the same time!"

It was so stupid. It was so stupid and Atsumu was so annoying and a jerk and the stupid ugly bum who had rejected you a year ago, but you were laughing anyway. You dropped your arm to the table and rested your cheek against it. "Should we do it?"

"Scared?" Atsumu was already grabbing the soju bottle and your shot glass. "Who goes first?"

What did you want to ask him? You bit your lip in contemplation. With him being your former crush, you perhaps knew more things about him than you wanted to admit. Was there...? "Ah. Who's older, you or Osamu?"

The male straightened his posture and puffed out his chest. "Me, of course. Can't you tell?"

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. "Could've fooled me," you said, sticking your tongue out at him. 

"Fine. My turn. Why'd you start learning drums as a ballet major?" 

Had you ever told Atsumu that you were a ballet major? Maybe you had, or maybe he had learned it at the same time that he'd learned your name while he was trying to recruit you to the band. Either way, you didn't want to tell him the truth on this one. You reached for your freshly filled shot glass instead, but Atsumu's hand snatched the glass away from you before you could grab it.

"Hey, I'm actually curious," Atsumu whined. "What made you learn the drums?"

If he knew that his freshman year performance was the reason that you had started learning the drums, you knew that you would never hear the end of it. That was far worse than taking this shot. "Rules are rules. I answer or I drink, and I choose to drink."

He reluctantly handed you the shot glass, and you downed the whole thing quickly. After using one of the bar napkins to gently wipe your mouth, you turned back to Atsumu. "Let's make this harder. Why did Osamu leave the band?"

Atsumu grimaced, and you could tell that he was conflicted between not wanting to answer your question and also not wanting his pride to be hurt by opting for the shot. After a moment of silence, Atsumu replied, "'Cause he wants to do somethin' dumb. Like music production."

You raised your eyebrows at that. "Music production? That's not dumb at all."

Music production was one of the biggest majors at your school, especially because the university had produced some of the biggest producers in the game right now. Even more attractive was that production tended to be a far steadier career than being a normal musician. 

Atsumu clearly thought otherwise. "It's dumb 'cause he's a drummer."

"And I was a ballerina," you pointed out quietly, using two fingers to swirl the straw around in your water. "Is that what I'm supposed to be?"

"N-no," Atsumu stammered. It was the first time you'd ever seen him really flustered. "That's not what I meant. It's just that...when you're twin brothers, you're supposed to stick together, right? But now he's thinking he's too good for the band or whatever."

"That's not true." Belatedly, you realized that although you had seen Osamu before the performance, he hadn't stuck around after the show, and you were fairly sure that he hadn't spoken to Atsumu either. Based on how bitterly Atsumu was speaking about Osamu at the moment, you could kind of guess why. "He loves you in his own way, y'know?" 

 "Tch." Atsumu grumpily shoved some of the stale fries still sitting on the table into his mouth. You handed him his water glass, a little surprised when he obediently took a sip. "My turn though."

You poured yourself another soju shot. "Ask away."

"Why'd you quit ballet?"

There were still other patrons in the bar that were lingering around after the performance, but Atsumu's question felt like it reverberated around the room. You froze for a moment, and then let out a deep breath. "I got injured."

"Oh." You could tell by the look on his face that he was curious, but he was at least tactful enough to not ask.

Maybe it was just the alcohol or the high you were riding from finishing your first gig, but for some reason, you found yourself explaining for the first time since the injury had initially happened. "I fell. Some kid, um, tried running out into a street and a car was coming, so I tried to grab him, but I ended up falling instead." You let out a laugh, but the sound was a little hollow. "Stupid, right? Some other guy ended up holding him back, and I was the dumbass who fell for no reason. Tore my hip flexor and that was it. The doctor said, um, I could recover enough to do ballet, but I'll probably never dance at the level I was at again."

"It's not stupid," he said. You gave him a look, but he continued undeterred. "That was pretty cool."

"Cool? I should've been on one of those Life Alert commercials," you said, but something tingled in your chest upon hearing his words anyway.

"I'm serious." By now, Atsumu was definitely gone. His speech was slurred, his eyes were half-lidded, and his lips were so plush and red—had they always been that way? You were trying to maintain eye contact, but your gaze kept dropping to his lips, which were pursed ever-so-slightly, like he was thinking about something. "You're really cool, (Y/N)."

Coming from the guy who had doubted your drumming skills not even a week ago? You couldn't really get a read on him, the way he flip-flopped from demanding you join the band to questioning your place here to drinking with you in this secluded part of a dingy dive bar. He was confusing you. "You're really drunk."

"Yeah. I am," he agreed, drawling the end of his words. 

You didn't expect him to admit it so easily. His behavior and the alcohol coursing through your veins was making you braver. You brushed away the bangs that were dangling in his eyes to the side, exposing his honey-colored eyes. The sight of them made you swallow thickly. 

"It's my turn to ask now, right?"

"No, it's—"

"Can I kiss you?" He cut you off before you could finish, leaving you speechless. For a moment, you could only blink blankly at him, your brain whirring at a million miles per hour trying to comprehend what he had just said. Kiss you? Atsumu wanted to kiss you? Did that mean he also liked you? But if he also liked you, didn't that mean you had to like him? Hadn't you boldly declared to Koushi and Kiyoko that you were definitely over him? Didn't—

Your body moved on instinct, as if it simply wanted to silence all the thoughts in your brain. You grabbed him by his shirt collar and pulled him towards you, your lips crashing into each other. The both of you found the rhythm of the kiss easily, lips morphing against each other. The apple-flavored soju was still sweet on his tongue. Atsumu's touch was gentler than you would've guessed. His hand cupped your chin, and his other hand was carefully placed on the waistband of your jeans, his thumb hovering above your bare stomach, like he was scared to touch your skin directly. 

He was warm. That was the first thought that popped in your head as you kissed him. His hand, his lips, his eyes—all of it was so warm and comforting. Something in the back of your mind warned you that this was a bad idea, but this was overshadowed by how enticing it was to kiss him.

When the two of you broke apart, Atsumu's pupils were dilated, and his speech was a little bit breathless. "I have it."

"Have what?" you asked, furrowing your eyebrows together.

"Y'know, the thing." Was he aware that he wasn't making any sense? "The thing that you—"

"Time to go home," Shinsuke's voice declared from next to the two of you. "Get up, you two. No more alcohol tonight."

"Shinsuke?" You were stunned to see him back here, having assumed that he went home after taking back Suna. 

Shinsuke didn't bother explaining himself. "Drink the rest of this," he commanded, holding your water glass up to your face. With the tone of voice that he was using, you had no choice but to obey. 

Atsumu didn't appear surprised at all to see Shinsuke. Instead, he slumped over and stuck his tongue out at Shinsuke. "One more beer?"

Shinsuke threw Atsumu's jacket on top of Atsumu in response. He then turned to you and said, "Is your jacket warm enough? If not, Atsumu can give you his."

"Hey." Atsumu puffed out his cheeks in indignation, but he immediately grabbed his jacket and threw it over your shoulders. "Don't give out things that aren't yours."

"Don't you still owe me for the Uber we took last weekend?" Shinsuke said coolly. 

Atsumu was silent after that one. 

You didn't remember the details of the Uber back to the dorm that clearly, but you remembered the soft cotton of Atsumu's jacket against your skin, and the way you gripped the collar of the jacket so it wouldn't slide off your body, having been too hesitant to slip your arms into the sleeves. 

Did this mean something? You glanced over to your left to see Atsumu fully passed out in the backseat of the car, his lips jutted out in a subtle pout. 

Your traitor of a heart wanted to believe that it did. 

"I'm sorry about last night," Atsumu said, rubbing the back of his neck and staring at his feet. Both of you were back in the practice room by yourselves, going over the instrumentals for the latest song that Metamorphosis had been working on. 

"You're...sorry?" It felt like you had a lump stuck in your throat. You could already guess what he was going to say based on the way that he was standing. Your heart dropped.

"It was impulsive, and I really respect you as a person, (Y/N), 'cause you're like, cool and stuff, but the band is really important to me right now, so—"

"So I should pretend the kiss never happened?" You finished his sentence for him, as if the rejection would sting less if you didn't have to hear him say the words with his own mouth. 

He let out a quiet "yeah."

There was a moment of silence. Then you took a deep breath, donned the prettiest, brightest smile you could muster, and said, "That's fine. We were both drunk, and we got caught up in the moment. No biggie."

You hoped that he wouldn't notice that your voice was higher-pitched than usual. 

Upon hearing this, Atsumu broke out into his normal crooked grin. "I'm glad you get it, (Y/N)."

Right. You got it. Of course you did.

Of course you did.

Your smile in response to him didn't quite meet your eyes.

What sucked the most about having to pretend the kiss never happened was that your body remembered it very much did.

Like when Atsumu had his hand wrapped around the microphone and you remembered how warm it felt on the waistband of your jeans, or when his fingers slid across the guitar's fingerboard and you remembered how delicately they'd cupped your chin, or when his lips pursed as he was concentrating and you remembered how plush they had been against your own. 

Honestly, it was driving you insane.

What was even worse was the fact that despite your own internal battle over what had happened, Atsumu looked completely unaffected by it. Irritatingly so. In fact, the whole band was sounding better than ever. It was like something during the gig had really clicked. 

On one hand, the artist in you was elated that you were still producing good music—like you had still deserved your place here at Inarizaki. But at the same time, you couldn't help but be annoyed by the fact that you seemed like the only one that had problems with the band dynamic as it was. Each rehearsal, each time you were face-to-face with Atsumu, it felt like you were constantly swallowing down your own feelings. 

Today was no different.

"I want a softer sound for this one," Atsumu said, perched on a stool in front of your drum kit. Kita and Suna had both excused themselves earlier during rehearsal, each of them saying that they had plans in the evening. Although you'd desperately tried to weasel your way out of staying behind, Atsumu had insisted that he show you the demo he'd made for the newest song. 

He pressed the space bar on his laptop, and you did your best to concentrate on the music, but the lack of distance was making it hard. Atsumu was close enough that you could see the light from the laptop screen reflected in his pupils. HIs eyelashes fluttered gently as he closed his eyes, totally absorbed in the sound. Did this guy have no sense of boundaries? Was he aware of what he was doing to you? Was he aware of you as a woman at all?

 His lips were glistening, in the way that they shined right after a fresh lip balm application. Your brain automatically recalled how soft they had felt on yours, how all-consuming his touch had felt. Had it been something in the air that had spurred him to kiss you? Was it the alcohol or the fresh high of a finished gig? 

Were those the only reasons?

You clenched your hand, digging your nails in so deeply that you knew there would be red lines across your palms later. There was no use in pondering about this now. You knew that logically, but you couldn't stop the way your heart seemed to lurch for Atsumu.

Especially when he was in his element, which he was right now. Atsumu's finger was gently tapping against the laptop's touchpad, in time with the beat of the demo. The song was a little bit different from what you associated with Metamorphosis's sound. Rather than the energetic melodies followed by crazy riffs and rhythms, this one was slower, mellower, like it was—

"Longing," Atsumu said, suddenly interrupting your thoughts. "That's what I wanted this to be."

"Longing?" you repeated.

"Yeah. When something seems so close, but it's actually just out of reach. That's what I wanted this song to be, y'know?"

He was sitting close enough for you to stare at how the tips of his bangs covered his eyes, how his shirt collar was slightly crumpled in on the right side, and how the pendant of his necklace was just slightly off-center. 

"Mm," You said, because you knew that there weren't enough words in the universe to tell Atsumu just how much you understood.  

At some point, you think you must've forgotten how popular Atsumu was on campus. 

Well, perhaps you hadn't forgotten as much as you had purposefully blocked this fact from your mind. But right now, you had to come face-to-face with this knowledge again as you watched Atsumu get swarmed by a pack of fangirls from your position on the grass of the university courtyard.

"He's not even that good-looking," you grumbled, tearing up the grass strands outside of the picnic blanket that you were sitting on with Koushi and Kiyoko. "What does everybody see in him?"

Koushi gave you a look, but you pretended not to notice. "Right, because being good-looking and talented aren't attractive traits these days."

"If those are the only two requirements, then there should be plenty of guys on campus that fit the criteria. I mean, take Tetsurou Kuroo, for one."

"That's different. The nerdiness cancels it out for him."

You puffed out your cheeks in irritation as you saw a girl snake her hand up Atsumu's arm. "I thought nerdy was in these days. And stupid guys who do stupid things inside of garages were out."

"You didn't seem to think so when you kissed him at the bar." 

Both you and Koushi's jaws practically dropped to the floor. You'd expected this kind of rebuttal from Koushi, but to hear it out of Kiyoko's mouth was mind-boggling. She was completely unfazed by your reactions, continuing to flip through the pages of whatever required reading she had. 

You were too flabbergasted to speak, but Koushi burst out laughing.

"So true," Koushi said, clutching his sides from laughter. "You can talk all about how Atsumu's not that hot, but you were the original Atsumu fangirl."

You jutted your bottom lip out in a pout, but it was true. In the distance, you could hear the giggles of the girls around Atsumu echoing throughout the quadrangle. A sigh slipped from your lips, and you turned your attention back to your laptop to avoid being filled with rage again. "I guess fangirl is the right term, since it's all one-sided."

When you glanced to your side, you noticed that Koushi was looking right in Atsumu's direction with his brow creased. "Is that so?"

You followed his gaze back to the direction of Atsumu, but by then, Atsumu and his gaggle of girls had already disappeared out of sight.

If you ignored your own complicated emotions surrounding Atsumu, the band was on fire. 

There'd been whispers here and there about the potential downfall of Metamorphosis after Osamu had left, but after your first gig a month and a half ago, Metamorphosis had once again cemented themselves as the best ensemble at the university. The band calendar that Shinsuke had added you to was now booked almost completely with gigs each weekend and rehearsals during whenever you didn't have classes. 

This was the first Friday that you had to yourself for the first time in about a month. Rather than going out with friends or hitting up the nearest house party, however, you were spending your free time in a much lonelier way. 

Koushi and Kiyoko were both busy for the night, needing to practice for the ballet department's own performance during the final showcase for the year. That meant that you were by yourself, drinking in one of the secluded hammocks on the hills near the edge of the campus. The elevation gave you a perfect view of the surrounding city and the lights that dotted the landscape around you. 

Tonight was colder than you'd expected, meaning you were curled up on the hammock, trying to conserve your body heat since you were too stubborn to head back to your dorm. Next to you was the six pack of sake jelly shots that you'd gotten from the local liquor store, and you were on your third one of the night. 

Normally, you wouldn't have decided to drink on your own even if your friends were busy, but it was the irritation from your feelings for Atsumu and your latest flareup of pain in your hip that had driven you to this. But even though it sounded lonely in theory, it felt nice to have the cold night air on your skin and the taste of peach alcohol in your system. 

"(Y/N)? What're you doing here?" An all-too-familiar voice asked from behind you. You turned your head to see Atsumu standing next to your hammock with a grin on his face. "Are you drinking by yourself?"

You wrapped your arms around your drinks possessively. "No," you huffed. "What makes you think that?"

He laughed, and your heart flipped at the sound. "Should I join you?"

Your eyes narrowed at him at this suggestion. "You're banned from drinking with me."

"How come?" Atsumu had that same cocky grin, like he thought you would easily cave if he leaned against the tree and showed off his muscular arms and narrow waist (and you hated that it was kind of working). "Scared I'll outdrink you again?"

It was the alcohol. Always the damn alcohol. It made your tongue loose and your mind hazy, and suddenly the words were spilling out of your mouth before you could stop them. "No, not because of that. It's because you're a dick and you're so stupid and you look like a humanized Simba and it's unfair that you can kiss me and pretend like nothing happened but I have to know that something happened and it's so stupid that it only affects me!"

You chucked your now empty can at his head, but as if he'd been expecting this, he caught the can with ease. His eyes, however, were wide in shock at your outburst. "I—"

"And you're an idiot for making me look stupid and I deserve better than this and you're not the only good-looking guy on campus and I'm sure at least one of them has to have a better personality than you so in fact, you're probably only the second best bachelor at this university," you spat out, though you probably only meant about 30% of what you were saying.

"Humanized Simba?" Atsumu murmured, his brow furrowed together as if he was seriously considering what you were saying. "Is it the hair? I know the color came out more orange than I wanted this time."

"And everyone knows that Kovu was the hotter one," you said, just to really rub salt in the wound. 

He looked genuinely offended by this, which gave you just a hint of satisfaction. Unfortunately, this wasn't nearly enough to satiate your anger towards him. 

"And you're not allowed to mess with my head or my feelings and—" You weren't entirely sure when the tears started falling, but now they were uncontrollably streaming down your face, forcing you to desperately wipe them away with the back of your sleeve while you were still rambling on. "And you're so stupid and—"

Atsumu was in full panic mode at this point. He reached in his pocket to offer you a crumpled up Chipotle napkin, which you snatched out his hand rather uncouthly. After a few more minutes of crying and cursing, you took a deep breath, let out a long exhale, composed your face, and said coolly, "I think I need to go to bed."

"Let me walk you back. It's late," Atsumu said, immediately jumping into action. He scooped up your cans of alcohol (both empty and full) and chased after you as you made your way back to the dorms. 

"Don't follow me!" You puffed out your cheeks petulantly. But the instant you said this, you stumbled over a stray rock on the path.

Atsumu lunged forward and wrapped his arm around your shoulders to steady you before you fell. "I'm not following you. I'm just going the same way."

"Liar." At this point though, you were both too drunk and tired to push him away. Once he was confident that you were balanced on your own feet, Atsumu let go of you and hovered his hand close to you instead, just in case you tripped again. "You know that you're not the only person who's a catch. I used to be hot stuff on this campus too." Your voice had gotten quiet, like all of your earlier anger and bravado had slowly dissipated into the night air. "I thought I'd be a ballerina forever."

It was a moment before Atsumu spoke, like he was contemplating his words carefully. "Y'know, you're just as cool now as you were back then. Just in a different way."

Your head told you that he didn't mean his words, that he was just saying them because you were drunk and upset, but something indescribable bloomed inside of you anyway. 

The following two weeks after the whole "drunkenly yell at Atsumu on a random Friday night" incident were the most awkward two weeks of your life. In fact, you didn't even think it was this bad when all of your classmates found out that you couldn't do ballet anymore. 

You didn't even think Atsumu was angry at you. Actually, you knew he probably wasn't, since he'd texted you the morning after asking how you were doing. No, the reason that things were awkward was because you didn't know how you could face him after how you'd behaved. 

As a result, you were doing everything you could to avoid being alone in the same room with him. That meant leaving right after rehearsals, fielding his attempts to talk to you one-on-one, and excusing yourself from places you knew Atsumu would be. Honestly, you thought you'd been pretty smooth about doing this right up until Shinsuke had confronted you after practice one day.

"Did something happen between you and Atsumu?" He asked directly, never having been one to dance around the bush. 

Luckily for you, Atsumu and Rintaro had already left earlier, meaning it was just you and Shinsuke in the garage at the moment. You nearly dropped your sheet music in shock. How could he tell that something had happened? Had you really made it that obvious? "N-no?"

"So it's normal behavior to dart around him like a mouse?" Shinsuke had one eyebrow raised, and his arms folded across his chest. Damn, he was quick on the uptake. 

You swallowed thickly and resigned yourself to at least revealing part of the truth. "Yeah, but don't worry. I won't let it affect the band."

He let out a sigh and continued rolling up the wires from the speakers. "That's not what I meant. If you don't want to share, that's fine, but I hope you don't take Atsumu's actions to heart. Sometimes he acts like a weirdo, because he doesn't really know how to talk to girls."

"What?" Never in a million years did you think you would hear somebody say this about Atsumu. Were you even talking about the same guy? Wasn't this the same person that was always surrounded by girls whenever he went out? The lead singer of the hottest band at the Inarizaki Institute of Performing Arts? Swarmed in love confessions and people sliding into his DMs? That guy?

"He's so wrapped up in the band that he's kind of a dunce when it comes to dealing with girls or his feelings," Shinsuke said, casually continuing to pack everything up. Your mind was whirling at this new information. "I hope he wasn't acting like that to you, but if he was, I can deal with him if you need me to."

Snitching on Atsumu sounded like a very tempting offer, but to be fair, you'd also given him quite the scolding when you got drunk the other night. And to some extent, this felt like a problem that you needed to deal with on your own.

"Thanks. I'll keep that in mind," you said sincerely. 

As it turned out, you didn't need to resolve your feelings towards Atsumu yet, because there were bigger things that demanded your immediate attention. 

Koushi looked at your phone in horror as you showed him the latest post that was trending on the school forum. "These bastards," he whispered. You swore you could've seen the shadow of a vein pulsing in his forehead. "How dare they spew this shit about you? Just a bunch of jealous, ugly losers."

You took back your phone and let out a long sigh. The title of the post seemed to be mocking you from your phone screen: Ballet princess only joined Metamorphosis cuz she's a desperate **** lollll.

Underneath the post was text reading: i saw her confessing to Atsumu last year. just a desperate chance to chase him after getting rejected. they probably only let her join bc they felt bad lmfao. just a washed up ballerina that still needed attention.

It felt like somebody was trying to wring out all the liquid in your gut. There were comments below the post that agreed with the original poster, but you didn't feel like reading them again. You'd only found out about the post an hour ago, but by the looks of it, this had been up on the school forum for at least a day.

That was long enough for the rumors to make it around campus. You pursed your lips, wondering if Atsumu had also read this or at least caught wind of this by now. Would he be upset that you hadn't brought up the fact that you'd confessed to him a year ago? Did that count as hiding your identity? Would he act awkward around you? Was he furious that you'd dragged the entire band into all of this? 

Kiyoko wrapped her arms around you once she noticed that tears were welling up in the corners of your eyes. "We'll get the post reported and taken down. Don't worry, (Y/N)."

You let out a hollow laugh, doing your best to not cry. What had you really done to deserve this? It wasn't like you'd ever done anything wrong to anybody. Was it a crime to get rejected by your crush? "People really think this about me?"

"It's probably one ugly ass bitch under three accounts," Koushi scoffed. "Don't let their words hold any weight. First of all, it's weird that they were creeping in on your confession at all. And secondly, there's no correlation between you getting rejected and joining the band. They're just making up a bunch of delusions and posting about it."

"Yeah," you said quietly. You just didn't know if you believed it.

Atsumu had agreed to meet you after one of your classes in one of the library study rooms, which in hindsight, maybe wasn't the best place to have this conversation. But you weren't comfortable meeting him out in public or asking him to come to your dorm room (not wanting to fuel the rumor mill any longer), so you'd booked the study room an hour before you were supposed to meet and now here the two of you were. 

"So I'm guessing you saw the post online," you said, staring at your feet.

Atsumu was sitting across from you, uncomfortably fiddling with a pen in his hand. "Sorry. It was kind of hard not to see."

You took a deep breath in to muster up your courage. When you spoke, you did your best to do so coherently. "I didn't mean to hide the fact that I'd confessed to you, I just...didn't think it was important to bring up at the time. And I swear I didn't join the band with ulterior motives or anything like that. I just needed a place to practice my drumming, because I needed to switch majors, since I'm not...since I can't do ballet anymore."

 "Um yeah. I knew." 

You blinked, looking up at Atsumu with wide eyes. "You...knew?"

"That you confessed to me? Yeah." Atsumu was looking down at the pen and twisting it open and closed over and over again. "It's not like I forgot or anything."

You stared at him disbelievingly. "You didn't remember my name."

"That's different. I'm just bad with names." Atsumu ran a hand through his hair, ruffling the copper strands. "I wouldn't have forgotten you."

Oh. You hadn't been expecting that. You swallowed down your surprise and continued. "And I'm um, sorry that this got the whole band involved. I didn't mean to ruin the band's reputation or anything. And it is kind of true that I had to join, because I'm a washed up ballerina. If it's uncomfortable having me there, I can quit too."

"No, you can't." This time, Atsumu's voice was firm. He looked up and locked eyes with you, and you could tell he was irritated by this suggestion.

"I just don't want to get the band involved in this—"

"You're not just a drummer who joined Metamorphosis. You're Metamorphosis's drummer now, and a good fucking drummer at that. I'm not going to lose a good drummer, because somebody with a big head and two thumbs decided they didn't have enough drama in their lives." He spoke with that classic cocky tone that he always had, and that's how you knew that he truly meant what he was saying. "If you're worried about what they think, then just prove them wrong. You're good at that, aren't you? Shutting people up with your performance."

"So you still want me in the band?" you asked, just to be sure one more time. 

"Hate me, curse me out, whatever, I'm not letting a good drummer go." Atsumu checked the time on his phone, got up, and slung his backpack over his shoulder. "I've got class now, but the final showcase is in a week, and you better be there as our drummer. Got it?"

He didn't even give you the time to respond, merely tossing something in the air at you before he hurried out the door. You instinctively caught it with your hands and stared at the object in surprise. A scrunchie? Why did he...? You took a closer look at the charm dangling off the scrunchie, a silver music note. It suddenly dawned on you that this was the scrunchie you had misplaced at the diner where you'd made your confession to Atsumu a year ago. 

"He still had this?" you murmured. So it was true that Atsumu had remembered your confession. This, however, only brought more questions. Why would he have kept this? Why would he have chosen this moment to give it back to you instead of earlier? He was okay asking you to be in his band after having rejected you? He was okay kissing you too? You then recalled Shinsuke's words about Atsumu being a weirdo when it came to girls, and laughed out loud from how bewildering the entire situation was. "He really is a fucking weirdo."

And although you hadn't talked about his feelings for you or apologized for calling him a humanized Simba, it felt like something in the air had changed. You tightened your grip on your scrunchie, a new resolve taking over. 

Ballerina, drummer, whatever you were, you just needed to show everyone that you were still (Y/N) (L/N).

For all it was worth, you felt like you deserved a medal for the self restraint that you'd demonstrated recently. 

Even with all the whispers and rumors floating around about why you joined the band and how you seduced the unsuspecting Atsumu to stay relevant on campus, you hadn't hit someone even once! In fact, you'd kept your head high and your mouth tightly zipped together whenever you heard snippets of this gossip pass you by. You would go as far as to say that this was probably the most enlightened you'd ever been in your entire life. 

On the other hand, Koushi was so close to violence that you worried he might legitimately need to sign up for boxing classes, just to release some of that pent-up anger.

"What does he even see in her?" a girl whispered to her friend in the dining hall as they passed your table. They both placed their hands in front of their mouths and let out shrill giggles. "Crazy how she could join the band too."

Years of competitive dance meant that their words simply bounced off of you. Koushi was not so forgiving.

"You know what Professor Washijo saw in you? Curled toes and over-rotation," Koushi snapped. The girls gasped at his words and scurried away. Once they were out of sight, Koushi rolled his eyes. "Brave words from girls who've been skipped over for every major role since freshman year."

"Are you okay?" Kiyoko asked, looking directly at you.

Just prove them wrong. Atsumu's words echoed in your head. You looked up from where you were scraping down the sides of your acai bowls and smiled. "Don't worry. I'll make sure they'll eat their words during the Final Showcase next week."

There was a menacing air radiating off of you that gave Kiyoko and Koushi more reassurance than anything else they could ask for. 

Two Years Ago.

Atsumu hated to admit it, but maybe he should've listened to his brother, when Osamu had insisted that Atsumu find out where all of his audition rooms were on campus beforehand. But the freshman arrogance had gotten the better of him, and now, Atsumu was stuck combing through each of the rooms in this building one-by-one to figure out where he was supposed to be for his practical exam. 

After walking into two empty practice rooms, Atsumu pulled open the door to the third room on this floor to reveal a small auditorium. On the other side of the auditorium was a stage, with a singular spotlight shining on a girl that was lacing up her ballet flats. There were three people with clipboards sitting in the front row. Had he walked into another department's practical? He didn't recognize the girl on stage (then again, he'd only been in school for about two months at this point), but she didn't seem to be anything special. Most of the names and faces here all blended together for him anyway. 

Just as he was about to leave, the music started. Not wanting to distract them with the sound of the doors opening and closing, Atsumu was forced to stay. His eyes naturally gravitated back to the stage, where he swore he'd witnessed some kind of illusion magic. 

The girl on stage had undergone a total transformation. He stared in awe as she danced, unable to take his eyes off of her. She danced as if she could fly and swim all at once, like the wooden floorboards beneath her bent to her command. No longer did she look like the normal girl that had been lacing up her pointe shoes. Now she had become someone who dominated the attention in the room, a spectacle that made it impossible to tear his gaze away. 

When her (e/c) eyes looked out into the audience, Atsumu knew that she couldn't see him against the blinding stage lights, but he could see her. And her eyes looked insatiable, desperate, intoxicating to the point where his mouth felt dry. 

And even when her music finished and Atsumu finally had the chance to slip out of the room again, he couldn't stop thinking about her and the evolution she'd undergone when she began performing. It was just like when caterpillars hatched out of the cocoons to become butterflies—gosh, what was the word for that again?

"Metamorphosis," he muttered to himself, hurrying to the next rooms on the floor. "A metamorphosis."

Present Day.

"They said that if the rain doesn't let up, we might have to cancel the performance," Shinsuke said, letting out a long sigh. It was now just fifteen minutes before Metamorphosis was due to take the stage as the last performance at the Inarizaki Final Festival. While most of the more traditional performances happened inside the school's auditoriums, the modern acts and ensembles were supposed to use the outdoor stage that had been set up in the campus quad. 

Normally, this wouldn't have been an issue, except for the torrential rain that had been relentlessly pouring since the afternoon. All of the bandmates were currently huddled under a tent right next to the stage, staring up at the unmoving gray that blanketed the sky. You tapped your foot in frustration. This was supposed to be your big chance to prove to everyone why you deserved a spot in the band, so why did you have to get rained on now of all times? Was the universe mocking you?

Rintaro made a sharp clicking noise with his tongue. "This is so annoying. Can't they move us inside somewhere?"

"None of the sound systems would be set up for a rock band," Shinsuke pointed out. "People are already losing the momentum from performances all day, so if it gets delayed any longer, they won't show up."

Atsumu was uncharacteristically silent. He sat on one of the equipment boxes with his hands clasped together and his eyes closed, as if he was simply willing the rain to stop. 

You pursed your lips and looked around. There were still students loitering around the quad, but most of them were taking shelter underneath the overhangs of the closest buildings. Nobody was grouped in the center of the quad, where the audience would normally be during the festival. 

Were you really going to lose your chance to prove your place in the band, because of some spring showers? It wasn't as if the stage was wet; all of the instruments had been protected by the industrial tarp that was covering the stage. Sure, the grass area might've been a little bit muddy, but ultimately, all of the performances for the day had been finished and nobody was wearing any of their performance attire any longer. "So what?" you said out loud, folding your arms over your chest. "What's stopping us from playing?"

While all three of your bandmates stared at you dumbfounded, it was Rintaro who chose to speak up. "Do you have eyes, (Y/N)?"

"I do, actually. The instruments are dry, all of the sound systems have already been set up, and people are waiting to hear us." You ran your hand back through your hair. "We either play now or end the year with nothing."

It was a little bit crazy, you had to admit. Asking people to watch your gig in the soaking rain when people could easily leave and start pre-gaming before the after party was definitely a choice. But at this moment, the desperation was making you a little nuts. You wanted this. You wanted this so fucking badly that you were willing to stand up there with a bucket and twigs if you had to. 

Your eyes met Atsumu's, and his expression was unreadable. After a brief pause however, Atsumu said, "Let's do it."

"Really?" Rintaro asked. 

"Shinsuke will be graduating this year, so he won't get the opportunity to play at the university gigs anymore. This is our last chance to play as a true Inarizaki band," Atsumu said, standing up and unzipping his hoodie to reveal a shirt with the Metamorphosis logo bleached into it. He looked at all of you with a new determination in his eyes that made your heart skip a beat. "And when have we not been hungry?"

Once Shinsuke handled some of the logistical items and the band was given the go ahead, you all took the stage to the surprise of the student body that was still lingering around. You settled into your seat behind the drum kit and watched as Atsumu ran a few mic checks. When the last of the testing had finished, Atsumu turned around to face you and smiled. You knew that there wouldn't be any special announcement about the start of your performance or awkward introduction from Atsumu to start the show. People were slowly starting to cluster closer to the stage, but you could tell that nobody quite knew what to do. 

That meant it was down to you and the drums. 

You took a deep breath in and a deep breath out. The drumsticks that you clutched in your hands felt unfamiliar, yet they fit snugly in your grip as if they had always belonged there. Your mind wandered back to the instructions your former ballet teachers had instilled in you on how to properly prepare yourself before a performance. Picture what the people should see and hear. Picture your ideal self. 

You weren't a ballerina anymore. You no longer spent hours stretching or breaking in new pointe shoes, and your student ID card no longer had access to the ballet practice studios. You weren't the girl you used to be.

But you were still (Y/N) (L/N). And as you raised your drumsticks into the air, you knew that you had only one thing to prove to these people.

You would always be (Y/N) (L/N).

Muscle memory found the music faster than your brain did, but your muscle memory had always served you well. Just like your very first gig with the band, adrenaline kept the rhythm going as you played. Atsumu's voice was like a siren, crooning out to the audience and luring them out into the muddy grass. Your bandmates were just as captivating, commanding the attention of the audience. None of you allowed any space for silence or awkwardness, continuing to seamlessly play through your setlist. You could feel the crowd's energy swelling up as you continued, the rain unable to dampen the electricity surging through the audience. Even soaked in the rain, people were dancing and singing. All you could think about was how good it felt to be playing. 

Midway through the performance, Atsumu jumped out from underneath the tarp above the stage (much to the chagrin of the audio guy), his hands clutching the microphone like it was his lifeline. Under the rain, his hair plastered to his forehead and his shirt clung to his skin. None of this seemed to bother him though. He spun around to face you and pointed at you just as the song arrived at the drum solos. You took him up on his cue, taking the newfound energy from the audience and running with it. 

Even without the spotlights above you, you knew the band was glowing. The music was giving you that air of invincibility, an unmistakable atmosphere that came only when the music was good. This was the kind of performance that made your hands tremble in excitement—a musician's high. 

As your eyes swept over the audience, you knew you had them bewitched. It was the kind of feeling that truly needed no words. You were (Y/N) (L/N), the drummer for Metamorphosis. 

You had proven it. 

At the end of the show, you ran into Osamu waiting for you in the room that the university had given you to pack up everything. He tossed a towel into your hands and said, "Here. This is for Stupid-sumu."

"You don't want to give this to him yourself? He's just in the bathroom right now," you said, clutching the towel in your hands. 

Osamu shook his head. "I've been meaning to talk to you anyway."

You raised an eyebrow at this. What could Osamu Miya possibly want to say to you? "About?"

"I want to record and produce the band's first album. With you as the drummer." Osamu said this so casually that for a moment, you wondered if you'd misheard him. 

"You want to produce an album for the band? With me on drums?" 

"That's what I said, yeah."

Automatically, you looked around to see the opinions of your other bandmates, but none of them had arrived inside the room yet. "Is there a reason why you're asking me?"

"They've known for a while now. But I wanted to see your chemistry with the band first, since you haven't been here for long."

"So? Up to par?" You grinned since you already knew the answer. There was no reason for him to be here talking with you otherwise. Before Osamu could speak, the door opened and Atsumu entered. Immediately, both twins grimaced as they saw each other. They stood unmoving, as if just the sight of the other person was enough to paralyze them. You rolled your eyes and shoved the towel Osamu had given you into Atsumu's face. "This is from Osamu by the way. You two should work out whatever's going on here."

With that, you pulled Atsumu out of the doorway and into the room and shut the door on them. Out in the lobby of the building, you could see Shinsuke and Rintaro mingling with the crowd. Most of them were students from the music department, and because you weren't particularly close with any of them yet, you decided it would be best to call it a night. After all, you'd spent countless hours practicing each day leading up to the performance, and you hadn't given yourself a real chance to rest in a long time. 

You'd only been laying in your dorm bed for thirty minutes when you suddenly got a call from your phone. You picked it up and jolted up in surprise upon seeing the caller ID. When you answered, you could only pray that your voice came out normally. "Hello? Atsumu?"

"Are you busy right now?" he asked. Honestly, you'd half-expected the background audio on his hand to be filled with loud music and the chattering of people, but it was oddly quiet. Had he not gone to any of the after parties? 

"Not really. Why?" 

"Can I come see you?"

Your heart leapt into your throat. Come see you? What did he mean by that? Surely, he meant this in a purely professional way, right? You shouldn't get your hopes up after having been rejected by him twice now. You pulled on a hoodie over your pajamas and set out to meet him where he was waiting outside of your dorm building. The entire time that you were heading outside, your brain was whirling with thoughts about why Atsumu would've called you out here. Was he here to discuss something about the band? Maybe talk about recording now that he had potentially reconciled with Osamu? Or did he want your opinion on yet another one of his potential songs? 

In anticipation of whatever he'd come to talk about, you were carrying one of your mini music notebooks in your pocket. Atsumu was sitting on one of the benches outside of the door when you came out of the building. He stood up when he saw you.

"Hey," you greeted him, stuffing your hands into the pocket of your hoodie. "What's up?"

"I like you, (Y/N)."

You stopped dead in your tracks, completely floored by his words. Surely, you must've misheard? He liked...your drumming maybe? Was he just praising you on your exceptional skills as a musician? "...as in?"

"As..." He paused, and then buried his face in his hands and groaned. "Like a girl. Y'know. Romantically and stuff."

You must've inhaled too much of whatever they'd been using inside of the fog machines earlier. That was the only explanation for what you were hearing right now. Atsumu couldn't have feelings for you, right? "What do you mean?" 

"I had a crush on you. Have. I still like you, (Y/N)." This was the first time that you'd seen Atsumu so flustered. Now that you were able to get a good look at him, you noticed that he was wearing Crocs and athletic shorts, a sharp contrast between the street style get-up that he'd worn during the performance today. The part of his hair was a little bit wild, like he'd spent too much time running his fingers back through the copper strands. Though the lighting was dark, you could see a faint rosy hue on his cheeks as well. He'd shown you a lot of sides to himself since you met him, never once had you seen him in such a disheveled state. 

"Didn't you tell me that the kiss was a mistake and that I should forget about it?" You asked, still unable to believe what you were hearing. 

"I thought maybe it might be the best way to move forward, I don't know. I wanted the band to do well and I was scared that if you didn't want to date me or if we dated and broke up, then it would affect the band. But I can't stop myself from liking you," he confessed. 

It was like your heart was a jackhammer, and somebody had switched it on. You could hear your heartbeat thumping in your ears, but you were trying to hold back your emotions, unsure if what he was saying was a good thing or not. Wasn't this what you'd always wanted to hear? Hadn't you wanted this even before the time that you confessed to him in that diner a year ago? And yet, if he'd felt so conflicted about his feelings, what made him change his mind? "But why tell me this now?" 

Atsumu shoved his hands into his pockets and let out a sigh. "It's cause 'Samu said that I shouldn't live with 'what ifs' or whatever. Something about how I can't predict the future, everything will always change, and the band could break up even if I don't act on my feelings, so I might as well take chances while I'm still stupid and alive."

You narrowed your eyes at him. "If this is your way of asking me out, it sucks."

"Hey, cut me some slack here, I've never done this before." At this point, Atsumu's ears were bright red. You had to admit that you found it a little cute. "I know I messed up pretty bad by kissing you and telling you to forget about it."

"Yeah, you did," you said, but your tone was more teasing than it was genuinely angry. You knew you couldn't be too mad, given the whole throwing drumsticks at his head, getting drunk and calling him names, and then ghosting him afterwards hadn't been a great look for you either. 

"But I like you, (Y/N). I thought you were cool the first time I saw you dance, and then I realized I really liked you when I saw you play the drums. Even if we break up and the band falls apart, which I really hope it doesn't, I want you to be my girlfriend."

"You liked me when you didn't remember my name?"

"I remembered you. I've always remembered you." His voice had suddenly become quiet, and you realized how desperate his eyes were looking at you right now. "I really like you, (Y/N). I think you're cool and pretty and funny and smart and I don't really know how to act around you, but I just know that I like you."

Oh. Your heart swelled. Sure, Atsumu was a loser who had no idea how to act around the girl he liked, and he was a mindless idiot who only ever thought about his band, and he looked like a playboy but he'd rejected every girl on campus, and this was probably a contender for worst confessions of all time, but you were falling for it. You still had some questions though. "Won't the bandmates get mad if we suddenly start dating? Do they even know that you like me?"

"They know. Rintaro accused me of having hidden motives the first time I brought you to the band until he heard you play." Was he serious? And yet, somehow it'd been you who'd been on the receiving end of those malicious rumors—the irony of it all. "But they've known that I've liked you for a while now. I guess it was too obvious."

Obvious to everyone except you, it seemed. But his words managed to ignite this gleeful feeling inside of you anyway. 

Atsumu then reached into the pocket of his shorts and held out a fistful of bright yellow crumpled dandelions. "I got these from the campus lawns. I even pulled them out by their roots, to make it easier for the gardeners."

God, he was so bad with girls. But you accepted your bouquet anyway, carefully adjusting the flowers into an arrangement that was passable. "Um, thanks."

"Yeah. Butterflies love this stuff," he said proudly. The statement was so unexpected that your responding laugh echoed throughout the night. 

"Right." You rolled your eyes playfully. "That's the most important part when giving a girl flowers."

You didn't give him a chance to answer your retort, merely pulling him in by the collar of his shirt for a kiss. Just like your previous kiss, this one was soft and sweet, but it was different too. This time, it felt tangible and real. 

When you broke apart, Atsumu's eyes were a little bit hazy, and he had that goofy, cocky smile on his lips again. "So I guess this means you like me too?"

You smacked him on his forehead with your palm. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

His grin only got wider.

As expected, the rumors about you didn't magically disappear overnight, but your performance at the Final Showcase had certainly quelled most of them. The remainder of the gossip had been handled by Koushi, who'd resorted to picking verbal fights with anyone he heard smack-talking you. You'd applied officially to switch from a ballet to a drum major, and after acing the audition, you were just waiting for the final stamps of approval to secure your spot as a student next year.

But at the moment, all of that was out of your hands and out of your mind. There were more important things to focus on at the moment. You adjusted the position of your drumset and took a deep breath. Atsumu fiddled with the tuners of his guitar, and the other members similarly got comfortable with their respective instruments. On the other side of the recording booth, Osamu put on his headphones and spoke into the microphone. "Everybody in positions please."

The first teasers for Metamorphosis's very first original EP had already been posted to the band's social media accounts. Most of the elements about the EP had already been mapped out as well, including the tracks, order, and cover. All that was really left was to record the actual songs. 

You'd done quite a lot of nerve-wracking things in your life, but this was the first time that you'd ever sat down to do a music recording on the drums. You did your best to swallow down your nerves, but your leg was bouncing up and down. As if Atsumu could sense your anxiousness, he turned around and mouthed you'll do great. 

"We can do a quick run-through of the piece as a warm-up, and then we can make decisions on sound and quality or whatnot," Osamu said. He messed around with the sound board before flashing all of you a thumbs-up.

Atsumu looked around to confirm that everybody was ready before grabbing the microphone.  "This is Metamorphosis."